


Tumblr Ficlets and One-Shots

by aussiebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: A collection of comment fics, drabbles, and other short fics that will most likely not be expanded upon.





	1. Pancakes and Butts

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following Tumblr prompt:
> 
> fic where stiles and derek finally sleep together and the next morning derek is in the kitchen making pancakes or something idk wearing just a pair of boxers and stiles goes over and runs his finger down his back and tugs his boxers open to just stare down at his butt and just sighs happily.

Waking up with a jolt and instantly rearing back from the eye-searingly bright shaft of sunlight that was spearing him in the face, Stiles groaned piteously and cast a careless hand over the bedside table to try and blindly find his phone, knocking the lamp onto the floor and smashing the ceramic base. He sighed and ignored it, then suddenly cursed a blue streak when he managed to blearily read his phone and realised he was brutally late for work.

_“Fuck,”_  he muttered in a rushed litany as he tangled himself in the sheets –still drenched in the scent of sex from the night before, because  _sex_  with  _Derek_  was something that had finally happened, and of  _course_  he had to get up and go to work the next day instead of lounging in bed and wallowing in the afterglow,  _alone_ , apparently, because it looked like Derek had left already– and fell to the floor with an undignified yelp as he cracked his knee down onto the buckle of his belt where it had been left in their frantic undressing the night before.

After taking a brief moment to groan manfully and try not to cry, except with more tears, because that shit  _hurt_ , he hobbled to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wet his hair enough to try and shove it back from his face in some semblance of a ‘do that didn’t scream  _I spent most of last night getting thoroughly fucked_ , instead of standing in front of the mirror and enjoying his own kiss-swollen lips and the beard burn colouring the delicate skin of his throat. Not to mention the colourful assortment of hickies adorning his body, or the faint-but-still-there impression of teeth in several places. Or maybe those scratch marks curling over his shoulder there… alright, so he was multitasking.

Spitting and rinsing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Stiles turned, but misjudged the angle the door had fallen closed to and swung his foot into it, almost breaking his little toe in the process.

“Get fucking  _fucked_ ,” he howled angrily, hopping back into the bedroom as he continued cursing, wondering if he could kill himself with his dresser drawers before managing to even leave the bedroom.

Turns out he couldn’t, but he did manage to tear a nail on a lose thread off one of his shirts, and then managed to somehow pull his own sleeves up so aggressively that his hand slipped off the cuff and he punched himself in the sternum.

Finally having had enough, he just stopped at the closed bedroom door and let his forehead thump (gently) against the wood. It had finally happened. He and Derek had finally managed to not only emotionally un-constipate themselves enough to confess their feelings, but they had made it all the way back to Stiles’ apartment for the most enthusiastic, messy, laugh-filled, touch-saturated sex Stiles had ever had. Of course, they’d managed to get their collective shit together on a Tuesday, which meant that Stiles had to be up early for work which he was currently hopelessly late for, but it had happened.

And Derek had apparently left without a word at some point after they’d succumbed to their fucked-out exhaustion, which  _sucked_ , but to be honest, Stiles couldn’t remember if Derek had work too, so he could have just been reading too much into it.

After he’d given himself a moment Stiles pulled the door open with a sigh and bolted down the stairs, only to skid past the kitchen door and slam his elbow into the frame while his arms windmilled wildly as he tried to stop.

Because there at the stove, all that smooth, perfect, warm skin that Stiles had spent hours with his mouth against last night on display in just a pair of plain black boxers, stood Derek. Making pancakes. Like every wet dream Stiles hadn’t known he wanted to have came to life.

“Morning,” Derek said huskily, throwing a warm smile over his shoulder at Stiles. “I called the station for you, told them you weren’t feeling well.” Amusement coloured his voice as Stiles cradled his bruised elbow in the opposite hand and watched him for a moment, struck utterly breathless at having been so lucky enough to have gained everything he ever wanted in life. “I don’t know if Parrish bought it, especially given that he saw us leave  _McMurphy’s_ together last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before I managed to practically maim myself trying to get ready?” Stiles griped, but he was already crossing the kitchen– knee, toe and elbow throbbing– to wrap his arms around Derek’s waist and rest his forehead happily at the base of his neck.

Derek’s abs tightened a little under Stiles’ splayed fingers as he laughed. “You have no idea how funny that sounded from down here,” he said simply.

“What the fuck do I see in you?” Stiles groused cheerfully, idly running a hand down Derek’s back, hesitating a moment before hooking one finger in the back of Derek’s boxers because he was  _allowed_  to do this now, this was something he could  _have, god_ , and pulling the soft cotton out so he could just gaze down at the gorgeous perfection that was Derek Hale’s naked ass.

They stood like that for a moment, the muscles of Derek’s back shifting as he continued making pancakes and Stiles continued admiring before he sighed happily and closed his eyes, content.


	2. The Faeries Made Them Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Tumblr prompt:
> 
> Faeries made them do it fic where they accidentally trespass into fae territory. They all basically fall in love with Stiles and refuse to let him leave because they want him for their “harem.”
> 
> Naturally, Stiles declines their offer though he’s “hella flattered”. 
> 
> There are basically two days of negotiations before they come to a compromise.
> 
> Long story short that is how Stiles and Derek end up banging on a ceremonial alter in front of a few dozen Fae.

“God dammit, Stiles,” Derek grumbled, his hands quick and sure as they undid the buttons of Stiles’ (frankly quite ugly) brown plaid overshirt.

“What?” Stiles grinned in return, his own hands busy trying to undo his own buckle as well as Derek’s at the same time and really getting nowhere with either. “I can’t help that I’m apparently irresistible.”

“I told you not to go into the preserve past the lake, did I not?” came the frustrated reply. “But  _nooo_ , Stiles has to do what Stiles wants, irrespective of the fact that  _I’m_  the one who has to bail your idiotic ass out, yet again.”

“Not going to lie, dude- the fact that you used ‘irrespective’ instead of ‘irregardless’ is pretty hot.”

“Of course I did,” Derek frowned, pushing the shirt off Stiles’ arms and tugging his plain white tee over his head. “’Irregardless’ is redundant.” Once he had the t-shirt off he knocked Stiles’ hands out of the way to finish undoing his own jeans, shoving them down his thighs and stepping out of them.

“Yeah, exactly,” Stiles told him, warm eyes alit with mirth as he did the same. “And the fact that you know that is incredibly sexy to me.”

“Is this human foreplay?” one of the three-dozen assembled fae asked its neighbour as they watched the two humans. “It is most strange.”

“The beautiful one says a lot of odd things,” the second faerie replied out of the side of its mouth. “I am not sure if the strangeness is a human thing, or just specific to  _this_  human.”

Stiles folded up their shirts and laid them down on the ground for Derek as he leaned back against the moss-covered stone altar, idly palming his hard dick as Derek got to his knees and slid his big hands up Stiles’ thighs, thumbs coming to rest in the hollow beneath Stiles’ hipbones.

“I think you may need to reevaluate your standards,” he said between licks to Stiles’ balls, stubble scratching the inside of his thighs, “because if  _that’s_  what gets you hot, you’re aiming way too low.”

“Not everyone can be a smarty-wolf like you,” Stiles told him, his head dropping back as he slid his hands into Derek’s hair and tugged gently, trying to get that teasing mouth exactly where he wanted it.

Derek obliged for a moment, sucking Stiles’ dick into his mouth and laving his tongue sloppily all over it everywhere he could reach. The obscenely wet sounds were met with appreciation by the witnessing fae, and Derek saw from the corner of his eye that the orgy had begun.

“It’s just… the word ‘regardless’ literally means ‘without regard’,” he said eventually, lifting a hand for Stiles to take the index and middle fingers into his mouth and suck them. “Add the prefix -ir to it, which obviously means no or not, and it’s the equivalent of a double negative.”

Stiles let his teeth drag along the length of Derek’s fingers for a moment before diligently resuming his sucking, matching the rhythm Derek was using on his cock. “I mean,  _I_  know that, but how often do you hear the word misused?” he asked breathlessly as Derek got a shoulder in between his knees to force his thighs further apart.

“Who are you hanging out with that’s so thoroughly abusing the English language?” Derek asked snippily, bringing his hand back down and using the spit-slick fingers to trail back to Stiles’ asshole and circle it with slow, firm pressure, tongue busy again on his dick.

“Uh, rhymes with Pot McSprawl,” Stiles said, the last a punched-out groan as Derek slid a finger inside. “Great guy,  _terrible_  understanding of English.”

The energy of the assembled fae crowd was beginning to amp up as Derek added another finger. He timed a firm press against Stiles’ prostate with a hard suck and smirked to himself at the startled exclamation that wrung from him, the sound repeated back at them from the fae.

Creepy little hedonists.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hips and pulled at him to turn, wasting no time in burying his face in Stiles’ ass, his tongue laving over the relaxed hole there to a smattering of golf-clap-like applause. The moans and excited  _yips?_  of the fae were increasing in both frequency and volume, and Derek knew it would only take another few minutes before they were done.

“I mean, I knew you were an English major at college and were doing your creative writing thing for a while there,” Stiles continued, leaning forward on his elbows to give Derek more room to work with, “but it’s different to come face-to-face with that level of comprehension, you know? Ergo: sexy. Ugh, yeah, there… jesus, get up here and fuck me, already.”

The resultant cumulative hiss from the voyeuristic fae at that demand sent a shiver down Derek’s spine as he got to his feet and slotted in behind Stiles. “Lube?” he asked, his breath hot against Stiles’ ear, making him shiver.

“Jeans pocket,” Stiles told him, reaching back to finger himself as Derek retrieved it, much to the delight of the fae. Stiles looked over to the woven-vine-and-flower throne the fae monarch had grown and woven in the space of a moment, pleased to see it with its head thrown back and a pair of fellow green-skinned faeries kneeling between its legs, mouth and hands busy pleasing their ruler.

“Do you remember that time Peter said ‘reoccur’?” Stiles asked, his snort of laughter turning into a choked-off moan as Derek slicked himself up with one hand and used the other to finger lube into his ass. “I thought you were going to snap a tooth, you were grinding them so hard.”

“Well pardon me for thinking that there’s no excuse for butchering the language,” Derek said breathlessly as he pressed his dick to Stiles’ ass and slowly pushed in, grunting as the head breached the tight ring of muscle.

“Oh, there’s no- _fuck yes, harder god damn you_ \- no excuses, but it was  _hilarious.”_

The writhing mass of magical creatures around them seemed to be pulsating in time with Derek’s hips snapping forward against Stiles’ ass, but it was second nature by now to ignore it. There was no possibility, however, of ignoring the lithe body beneath him as Stiles slammed his hips back to meet Derek’s.

“I really do worry about you,” Derek groaned, reaching around to jerk Stiles off, his hand firm and fast.

“No…  _ohhh_ , christ, Derek… no kink-shaming, asshole. Don’t think I don’t know your feelings about exhibition _ism yes right there!”_

Derek felt a flush crawling up his cheeks and was grateful Stiles couldn’t see his face because god damn it, he had a point. He attributed that to what he said next, because there was no excuse for it otherwise, but thankfully Stiles was too far gone to offer comment.

“You close, baby?” he murmured against Stiles ear again. “Gonna come for me?”

With a strangled groan Stiles did, grateful that Derek had the presence of mind to angle his dick at the shallow depression in the top of the altar, come splattering across in obscenely white strings. When he was done, Derek pulled out and stroked his own cock twice before adding his own jizz to the mix, bracing himself against the stone as he let his head drop forward and tried to regain his breath.

They both looked towards the faerie monarch and received a lazily-waved hand in acknowledgement of their having fulfilled their end of the bargain, which they took as their cue to get dressed and leave the glade.

“I’ll never be over the fact that the whole ‘saucer of milk to befriend the fae’ thing is actually a euphemism for semen,” Stiles said as they began the long walk back to the jeep, leaving behind a rollicking orgy of fae currently descending upon the altar to mass-fuck in the ‘offering’.

“I’ll never be over the fact that you, apparently, are incapable of doing what you’re told and leaving the fae the hell alone,” Derek told him frustratedly, temper flaring as he came down from his orgasm and was left feeling, once again, like he’d had something infinitely precious and lovely snatched directly from his hands.

“I told you that the book said-” Stiles began.

“I know, Stiles!” Derek exclaimed over the top of his words. “I know what the book said, okay? But you treat this like a joke, and it’s not, it’s really not-”

“-I never said it was a joke, Derek, jesus-”

“-but you’re always rushing into this shit, and  _I’m_  always the one having to bail you out of it-”

“-I mean, maybe I was using it as an excuse to try and let you know how I felt-”

“-and it’s killing me, because it’s not  _enough_  anymore-”

“-because it seemed… wait,  _what?”_

Derek froze where he was standing toe-to-toe with Stiles, the last few heedless words flashing like a neon replay in front of his eyes. “What do you mean ‘how I felt’?”

“What did  _you_  mean, ‘not enough anymore’?” Stiles shot back, eyes wide and… hopeful?

Taking a deep breath, Derek tried to emotionally brace himself before he spoke. “I… might have, perhaps, somewhere along the way… developed feelings? For you?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Stiles asked, the beginning of a smile curling his lips upwards.

“First you accuse me of not voicing punctuation, and now you’re querying my use of it?”

Stiles’ smile widened and he took a tentative step forward, his hand coming to rest cautiously on Derek’s hip. “I might have, perhaps, been ‘accidentally’ disturbing the fae just so you would come and save me,” he confessed, watching Derek carefully for his reaction.

“And you couldn’t have just asked me out for coffee?” Derek asked, incredulous, as his arms came around Stiles to pull him even closer.

Stiles scowled, though he made no attempt to move away. “The last three times I asked you out for coffee you invited Isaac along, then Boyd, and then my  _dad_ , idiot! I thought you weren’t interested!”

“I didn’t know they were supposed to be dates!” Derek exclaimed, the poleaxed look on Stiles face when he’d shown up at the diner with the sheriff in tow suddenly making a lot more sense.

“I thought maybe if we kept getting into situations where you had to fuck me that you’d see the light-”

“-where, shining out your ass?-”

“-and that you’d realise you wanted to be with me,” Stiles finished with a scowl.

“Huh,” Derek said thoughtfully. “Well, I guess it worked,” he said shyly, returning Stiles’ sudden, blinding grin with a small one of his own. “But that’s really a dangerous way to do it- those guys are hell-bent on making you part of their harem, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles confessed, “the book said that too. But I was counting on your werewolfy possessiveness and long-suffering affection for me to triumph in the end.”

“Love,” Derek said suddenly, his cheeks pinking up. “Long-suffering love.”

“Yeah?” Stiles’ face softened and he reached up to pull Derek’s face to his, kissing him long and slow. “Our first kiss,” he murmured against Derek’s lips.

“We’ve fucked seven times-”

“-eight, don’t forget that time after Easter-”

“-eight times, and never kissed?”

“Well to be fair, the faeries can’t splash about in a kiss,” Stiles said reasonably.

“True.” Derek kissed him again. “Now what?”

“Now we go home and you kiss me some more, and if you want to, we have sex some more, too. Maybe even both at the same time.”

“Sounds perfect,” Derek said, stepping back from Stiles and lacing their fingers together as they continued walking through the trees, the late afternoon sun throwing long, golden rays from behind them.

“And then after, when we’re come-drunk and sweaty and boneless, we’re going to talk about your little voyeurism thing in detail, and maybe consider setting up a regular schedule to perform for the fae. You get to fuck me in front of an audience, they get their little jizz-bath- which,  _disgusting_ , by the way- and the pack/fae relationship stays strong. What do you think?”

Derek grinned. “Sounds pretty good to me.”


	3. Crisis Of Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is feeling a little insecure. Derek makes it better.

Shoving himself upright from where he was lounging against the hood of the Camaro, Derek frowned behind his sunglass as Stiles fairly burst from the lecture hall and stalked across the grass towards him, his face drawn tight in a scowl.

He jerked his chin up in tight acknowledgement of Derek as he drew closer, but rather than step into his space and kiss him like he usually did, Stiles just made to move around the front of the car to the passenger seat. And yeah, Derek wasn’t having that.

He reached out and wrapped his hand carefully around Stiles’ forearm, drawing him to a halt. “What happened?” he asked, his senses alert but not coming up with anything other than anger, frustration and resignation radiating off the human.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then seemed to decide to forge ahead anyway. “I’m attractive, right? I mean, objectively, not just because you and I are dating?”

Derek blinked once, frowned, opened his mouth to speak but closed it again a moment later. Because  _yeah,_  he really was. Even now, after a full day of classes that had started way too early with Stiles dragging himself out of bed to go for his Academy-suggested-but-in-reality-required morning run at dark o’clock, he looked fucking edible. Wide shoulders, strong, capable forearms exposed by rolled white sleeves, firm thighs encased in black slacks, and his face… dear god, the kid had a face that made Derek want to drop to his knees and cry. Once he’d finished with the other things he wanted to do while he was down there.

It was only when Stiles’ expression closed off that Derek realised how long he’d been silently staring. He tightened his grip when Stiles tried to jerk away from him and leaned back against the car, pulling Stiles close to stand in the vee of his legs.

“What’s this about?” he asked quietly, ignoring the speculative looks Stiles’ classmates were casting their way from where they lingered in clusters in the shade of the building.

Stiles sighed and shook his head, scrubbing a big hand over his face. “It’s nothing. We were discussion sexual attraction in class and a study was raised that indicated that a clear complexion, symmetrical faces and a ‘general appearance of health and cleanliness’ are basically universal qualities that people are looking for.”

“And?” Derek asked dangerously, suspecting he knew where this was headed and not liking it one bit.

“And then Watz made some comments about how with my skin and lack of symmetry and sickly colouring it’s a fucking mystery that I managed to find anyone who found me attractive, let alone some who looks like you.” He flushed. “He saw the photo of you and my dad on my phone and asked who you were last week.”

Derek was quiet for a moment, watching Stiles as he stared at his shoes. “I don’t say it much,” he began slowly, “because I’m not good with words like you are, and I worry sometimes that I’ll say the wrong thing and hurt you. But listen to me now, okay? You’re perfect. There’s not one thing about you that I would change. I love your skin. I love the way your lips quirk up a little higher on one side, especially when you’re being a snarky asshole.”

Stiles huffed a laugh as his cheeks pinkened a little.

“You don’t look sickly, you’re fair like your mom. And what the hell, you can tan when you want to, but you’ve spent most of your teenage years running around at night and pulling my ass out of trouble. It’s not like Beacon Hills is exactly warm or known for its beaches, and Virginia isn’t much better. But who gives a fuck, Stiles? Why do you even care what that idiot has to say.”

The look he got in return was complicated, but Derek just waited. “Firstly,  _wow_ ,” Stiles said, something approaching his familiar smirk turning his mouth up at the corners. “B, I don’t care, but it still gets to you, you know? And three, I’m always going to be at least a little insecure because of all of  _that_ ,” Stiles said appreciatively, the heat in his eyes warming Derek from the inside.

Derek took Stiles’ hand and pressed it to his chest. “You feel that?” he asked quietly. “Feel how fast my heart is beating?  _You_  do that to me, idiot. And it’s not because you’re beautiful, which you  _are_ , but because I  _know_  you. I know who you are, Stiles. And you’re everything.”

Focusing his hearing, Derek caught words like  _sugar daddy_ ,  _leather kink_ , and  _dom_ , and as much as he hated that these ignorant dickheads were watching like their love was some kind of spectator sport, Derek could do this for Stiles.

“So why don’t you take those big, clever hands of yours, slide them into my hair and kiss the hell out of me like I’ve been imagining you doing since you left our bed this morning. And then you can take me home and fuck me, because I’ve been imagining that, too.”

Stiles’ laugh was punched out and sharp, but he did as instructed and stepped close enough to press against Derek’s front, taking his face in his hands and thumbing softly along his cheekbones before leaning in and kissing Derek deeply, no hesitation and no reservation. Derek brought his hands up to bracket Stiles’ hips, keeping his own body as soft and submissive as he could make it. He knew the picture they made to Stiles’ classmates, whose comments had now taken a sharp left turn, but it wasn’t for them. It was only ever for Stiles.

Stiles, who was taking him apart, one slow pass of his tongue at a time. Stiles, who had taught Derek how to do this, how to  _have_ this. Stiles, who was about to get them arrested if his hand travelled any lower.

“Get in the car before I strap you to the hood,” Derek murmured against his ear, capturing the wayward hand and using it as leverage to separate them.

Laughing again, and kissing Derek once more before doing as he was told, Stiles’ face was lighter and more open than it had been a moment before. “You’re a kinky fucker, Hale. I like that.”

Derek ignored the gawping trainees and grinned back at Stiles over the roof of the Camaro. “You can show me just how much when we get home.


	4. Roughneck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one day I will write this, where Derek scrubs up good and Stiles is surprised.
> 
> Also: aroused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much inspired by this photoset: http://hoechlin.tumblr.com/post/169677510821

Derek showing up for a date with Stiles, though.

Like, maybe he’s a mechanic, or a grease monkey OR EVEN A ROUGHNECK, PERHAPS. He’s usually filthy, scruffy, unkempt; always with a surly expression and old, worn safety clothing with innumerable stains and rips and tears.

And maybe Stiles doesn’t see him every day, only two or three times a month because Derek works away, but he figures the schedule out and then makes sure to be around ‘by accident’: stopping by the florist on Main to say hi to Mrs Boyd just as Derek happens to call in to pass on the latest news about Vernon. Buying his bread from the bakery that Allison and Isaac run when Derek drops in to buy the first red velvet cupcake (his favourite) that he’s had in a month. Swinging by the station with an extra cupcake for the sheriff because maybe Derek was a bit of a hellraiser when he was a kid, but Sheriff Stilinski knew good when he saw it, even at sixteen.

And maybe Derek notices. Maybe he sees Stiles when he helps Mr. Bryson carrying his groceries home, walking slowly so the elderly man can keep up and chattering away with a smile like the sun. Dressing up in ridiculous costumes and doing all the best voices for Storytime at the library on Wednesday mornings. Studying at a park bench by the fountain in the city square so he can protect the innocent like his dad.

Maybe Derek fell in love with him just by listening to Sheriff Stilinski tell stories about his amazing son, with a mind like a trap and a heart the size of a mountain. Maybe Derek discovers for himself that not only is Stiles a great person, he’s pretty as hell when he turns suddenly before entering the hardware store and actually  _physically_  runs into Stiles who stares at him with eyes like honeyed bourbon and a smile like forever.

Maybe he smiles back, just a little because he’s shy, and asks if he can see Stiles when he gets back after his next swing. Of course Stiles says yes, how could he not? So they arrange it, and they text for the three weeks Derek is way, and Stiles is in  _so much trouble_  because his infatuation has turned into full-blown love and it hasn’t even been a month.

And maybe he has exams the day Derek gets back, but it’s okay, because they arrange to meet at the whiskey bar in Beacon City, away from the well-meaning but still prying eyes of  _everyone they know._ Maybe Stiles is nervous and gets there thirty minutes early.

And then.

Then.

Maybe Derek walks in, and he fucking looks like  _that._

Not a skerrick of oil on him. Hair slicked back. Leather jacket, tight jeans and a tight, perfectly white tee. He’s sex walking, every fantasy Stiles’ incredibly agile mind has ever been able to conjure up. Then he smiles nervously with his adorable bunny teeth and yep, he’s done for.

Stiles is in  _so much trouble_ , but maybe he just can’t wait.


	5. Valentime's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Derek shoved to his feet, ready to roll out the old sorry-but-we’re-closed spiel, but froze and snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, manfully ignoring Laura who was making vulgar hand gestures and wiggling her eyebrows unbecomingly as she slipped back out the door with a wide shit-eating grin. Because there, bright-eyed and still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn for his date, stood Bambi._  
>     
>  _“Hey,” the guy smiled, and_ fuuuck _, he was gorgeous._
> 
> *
> 
> Derek is working Valentine's Day when Stiles comes back into his bar on a date.

 

“You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Der,” Laura told Derek as she returned empty glasses to the bar to replace them with fresh drinks.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said airly as he continued slicing limes, very obviously _not_ looking at the couple sitting at table eight. “I’m just making drinks, here.”

“Well, Bambi and his date would like refills, without the side-order of wistful staring.”

“I’m not making him another vodka tonic,” Derek said immediately, shaking his head. “He doesn’t _like_ vodka.”

“He ordered it, Derek,” Laura sighed. “Just make the damn drinks.”

“ _He_ didn’t; the idiot he’s with decided to go ahead and order _for_ him.”

“Oh my god, _you’re_ an idiot,” his sister huffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Make him whatever you want. But you’re the one who’ll have to deal with it when they complain about their order being messed up.” She reached across the bar and poked him in the chest, grinning wickedly when he swung to slap her hand away and missed.

Checking to make sure he still had some lychee juice, Derek set about making a Raspberry Blush- all sultry gin, sweet lychees, raspberry and rose cordial, tart raspberries and lime. Not only was it pretty and pink, it tasted great. If there was one thing Derek knew Bambi liked, it was tasty drinks. There was still a polaroid of him-- incredibly intoxicated and beaming wildly with false eyelashes on and a face covered in glitter-- holding a Rainbow Swimming Pool cocktail from Ladies’ Night surrounded by a laughing group of Beacon Hills’ resident drag queens stuck up on the _Hales’ Wall Of Fame_ behind the bar.

He carefully rimmed the glass with sugar that had edible gold glitter mixed in, added two cubes of ice and strained the drink over the top, garnishing the glass with a slice of lime. He added a (boring) vodka tonic to the tray, signalled for Laura that the drink was ready, and then looked up and smiled a greeting at the Gal-entines Day group that had come in, a party of ten Laura had booked as part of the bar’s holiday promotion.

For the next little while he was kept busy, making cocktails and lining up shots for the Gals, as they had taken to shouting in salute as they all drank, so Derek didn’t get to see Laura deliver the drink to Bambi. But she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the other end of the bar when he met her eye as she helped him with the drinks.

Over the next hour and a half he managed to snatch the odd glance over at table eight, and to his disappointment, it seemed that the date was going well. Bambi was laughing, his big hands gesturing wildly as he spoke, and Vodka Tonic stared raptly at him. Derek was _not at all tempted_ to swap bookkeeping duties for tending the bar for a month with Laura if she’d just go over there and drop a drink into Vodka Tonic’s lap.

Although when he saw Vodka Tonic reach across the table and lay his hand over Bambi’s, Derek sure was tempted to do it himself.

Distracted by a Gal and her Gal-pal who had appeared before him in a cloud of perfume and overly-loud giggles, Derek busied himself making another round of cocktails-- Fruit Tingles, this time. He was appreciated with squeals and applause when he added a glow stick to each poco grande glass as the stirrer, and he sketched a quick bow behind the bar with a grin.

But when he looked up, Bambi and Gin and Tonic were gone.

*

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to witness a fiery breakup,” Laura told him as they began cleaning up after close, the last Galentine having just been poured into her Uber. “For what it’s worth, Bambi _loved_ the cocktail. Should have seen his face light up when he tasted it. And I’m sorry it looked like his date went pretty well.”

Derek shrugged one shoulder. “It’s V-Day, Laur. Someone should be getting lucky tonight.”

“That will be me, if I ever get out of here,” Laura sighed.

“Go home, loser,” he told her after glancing at the clock and seeing that it was past three a.m. “I’ll finish up here and be gone in the next fifteen or twenty minutes anyway, so you may as well.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Laura said, tossing her apron onto the bar and boosting herself halfway across the top of it to kiss Derek on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too, you harpy. Get out of here.” He waved absently as Laura laughed and left, refilling the fridges beneath the bar.

“Oh hey, Derek?” Laura called several minutes later, sticking her head back in the doors, making Derek startle a little. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Not anymore it’s not,” he grumbled, crouching down to check what his juice levels were like. “Leave, before I find something for you to do.”

“I can think of a few things,” a deep voice said.

Derek shoved to his feet, ready to roll out the old sorry-but-we’re-closed spiel, but froze and snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, manfully ignoring Laura who was making vulgar hand gestures and wiggling her eyebrows unbecomingly as she slipped back out the door with a wide shit-eating grin. Because there, bright-eyed and still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn for his date, stood Bambi.

“Hey,” the guy smiled, and _fuuuck_ , he was gorgeous.

“Hi,” Derek said eventually. It was criminal how perfectly Bambi was his type-- tall, obscenely broad shoulders, slender hips and long, long legs. He was lost in his blatant admiration for a moment before frowning, glancing at the clock again. “What are you doing back here at three in the morning?”

“Hoping for another one of those dangerously delicious Raspberry Blushes, if I’m not too late?” The question was hesitant, clearly expecting a rebuttal, but Derek just nodded and reached over the bar to grab the back of one of the leather stools and pull it out in invitation. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” Bambi-- _Stiles--_ said as he shrugged out of his bone-coloured coat to reveal the blue and white knitted cardigan and blue button-down beneath it, both unbuttoned at the throat.

“Derek,” Derek told him, creating another cocktail and setting in down in front of Stiles. He frowned when another love song began playing through the sound system, so he grabbed his phone from its spot next to the register and pulled up a playlist on Spotify to replace it with. Nine Inch Nails’ _Closer_ began playing, and Derek could feel the flush crawl up the back of his neck as he fumbled to change it.

Stiles snorted inelegantly into his drink, eyes sparkling as he looked over the rim of it at Derek. “Don’t change it on my behalf,” he said innocently. “I’m quite fond of that song.”

Derek tossed his phone back down and mentally told himself to get a grip. “So, where’s your date?” he asked as a diversion, not sure whether or not he was going to like the answer.

Huffing out a disbelieving laugh, Stiles just shook his head and failed at fixing a regretful expression on his lovely face. “That was never going to work out.”

“Oh?” Derek’s eyebrows shot upwards in curiosity. “Seemed like it was going well.”

“It was doomed from the start,” Stiles told him dramatically. “How could the poor guy have ever competed with the gorgeous barman who sent over the specially-made cocktail?”

“Laura said she told you it was a mistake--” Derek began, then clamped his mouth shut when Stiles grinned triumphantly.

“I freaking _knew_ _it!_ ” he exclaimed, and actually fist-pumped. “I _knew_ you’d been watching me all evening!”

“Who’s to say I wasn’t watching your date?” Derek teased easily as he leaned forward on his forearms on the bartop, confident in where this was all heading given Stiles’ enthusiastic reaction.

“The fact that you remember that I hate vodka from when I was here on Ladies’ Night,” Stiles grinned, “and that I love gin and lychees from when I was here for Lydia’s bachelorette party.”

Damn, how had Derek forgotten about that?

(He hadn’t… the spray painted-on jeans Stiles had worn that night starred in a recurring fantasy of Derek’s.)

“Maybe I’m just really good at my job, did you think of that?”

“Of course you are,” Stiles agreed readily, “but I could see your face in the mirror on the wall there every time you looked over, and whenever Mitchell touched me or leant into my space you got these incredibly terrifying expressions comprised primarily of eyebrow.”

“Damn it,” Derek muttered, his blush making a reappearance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles told him, finishing his drink. “I’ve been working up the nerve to come in here and ask you out since Lydia’s thing, so tonight you just gave me the push I needed.”

The butterflies in Derek’s belly went crazy. “Are you going to, then?” he asked, reaching up to pull his bowtie free and unbutton the top buttons of his plain white uniform shirt.

“Uh…” Stiles began, eyes wide and fixed on the newly-exposed hollow of Derek’s throat. He blushed prettily when Derek swallowed deliberately and glanced up to meet his eyes. “Sorry, what?”

“Are you going to ask me out?” Derek asked patiently.

“I’m going to ask you to fuck me on the bar, first,” Stiles said breathlessly when Derek’s fingers moved up to undo the buttons on his vest.

Derek’s hands faltered, twitching involuntarily with the need to touch. “And then a date?”

“Or a proposal,” Stiles said wistfully. “Why did you stop?”

“You just propositioned me,” Derek told him honestly, amusement curling his mouth upwards at the corners. “I was surprised.”

“It’s alright,” Stiles told him with a wicked grin, “Laura said we could. She also said to remind you that it’s Black Light Night on Friday, and to make sure everything was _thoroughly_ cleaned once we were done.”

Derek groaned as Stiles slid his empty glass to the side and stood. “Although I’m happy to just take this back to yours, if you’d rather not mop?”

With a disbelieving laugh Derek reached across the bar and hooked two fingers in the front of Stiles’ shirt, drawing him close. “There’s a whole closet of cleaning supplies out the back, I think we’ll be fine.”

Stiles’ laughing mouth tasted like lychees and rose cordial and gin.

*

Much later, barely dressed in just their pants and sitting on the floor behind the bar (which yes, thank you Laura, was going to need to be mopped before Friday) as they passed a bottle of ice cold beer back and forth, Derek spoke, his head in Stiles’ lap.

“Why did you really end the date?” he asked, eyes drifting closed as bottle-cool fingers smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

Stiles huffed indignantly. “It was a non-- starter,” he said assuredly. “I mean, seemed great on paper, but just…”

“Just what?”

“He called it Valen _times_ , Derek. With an _m_. There's no coming back from that!” Stiles’ incredulous disdain couldn’t have been more obvious than if he’d slapped Derek with it, and all he could do was roll his face into the warm, bare skin of Stiles’ belly and laugh.

*

Every Valentine’s Day card Derek bought for Stiles in the years after that always had the _n_ crossed out and replaced with an _m._

Every single one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) Valentine's Day, friends! Whatever you do and whomever you do it with, remember that I'm out there somewhere, loving you too x
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Not in the creepy way, though. Unless you're into that. I won't judge.)


	6. The Breakup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Derek details the breakup he and Stiles never had. And they never had it because they were never dating. Stiles is... confused.

**Inspired by this:**

 

ONLY… STILES DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT IT. He made an offhand comment once (that Derek took to heart) about how the societal construct of a significant other has such far-reaching implications that he’s once again facing social ostracism for not having one, even in  _college_ , for god’s sake.

So can’t you just imagine Stiles’ bewilderment the first time this happens? Like, maybe Derek is visiting Stiles at college, and they’re getting ramen at that slightly disreputable-looking but hellaciously delicious place on the corner, you know the one, when Charles from Stiles PoliSci 201 class passes by.

“Hey Stiles,” he might say with a friendly smile, “who’s your friend. Haven’t seen him around campus.”

“Oh Charles, hey,” Stiles could say in return, “this is Derek-”

“I’m Stiles’ ex,” Derek mentions casually as he deftly handles his chopsticks.

“Say what now?” Stiles asks faintly.

“ _You’re_  Stiles’  _ex?_ ” Charles asks incredulously, and Derek has this guy pegged, okay? Stiles may have mentioned Charles a time or two, but Derek can tell the kind of person he is, and it’s the kind of person to  _gossip._ So even though he’s only in town for the weekend, Derek is gonna make this  _good,_  and restore some of Stiles’ social standing while he’s here.

“Yeah,” Derek says, flicking his eyes up to Stiles who is staring at him in outright bewilderment. He injects just the right amount of wistfulness into his voice when he says, “Best year of my life.”

It works, because Charles is helpless to do anything but sink into the chair opposite Derek at the little outdoor bistro table Stiles and Derek have packed themselves into, too-long legs tangling comfortably together beneath the wrought iron.

“What happened?” Charles asks, straight as a ruler but still drawn in by Derek’s impossibly-soft watercolour eyes as he manages a sad smile.

Derek shrugs. “Life, I guess. Stiles was going off to college, and I didn’t want to be the thing that held him back.” He carefully puts his chopsticks down and looked earnestly at Charles. “He was always too good for me, anyway, so it was only a matter of time.”

From the corner of his eye Derek can see Stiles’ spine straighten indignantly, because if there’s one thing about Stiles that he’s learned over the years, it’s that he absolutely  _will not hear Derek talk about himself that way_.

“So when he told me he wanted to end it,” Derek continues sadly, “of course I wasn’t about to argue. Stiles was always destined for bigger and better things than me.”

“Okay, first of all–” Stiles begins, but Charles cuts right across him, enthralled.

“How did you guys even meet?”

Smiling, Derek glances over at Stiles and takes a drink of his water. “I was a couple years ahead of him at school, and then went on to work with his dad. Life kept throwing us together, and I guess there was a kind of inevitability to it. To us, you know? And then one day The Lovers came to town and put on a lawn concert.” He has to tamp down on a smirk at this point, because Stiles  _hates_  indie music. “I’d overheard how much Stiles loved them, so I got us tickets and packed up Mom’s travel comforter and asked him to go with me, and it was then that I knew.”

“We  _never_ went to a lawn concert and sat on your mom’s old comforter!” Stiles exclaims, because what the fuck is even happening right now?

“It was the first time we held hands,” Derek ‘remembers’ fondly, and Charles is hooked, line and sinker.

And the conversation continues like this, in spite of Stiles refutations, for the next twenty minutes, Derek offering a heavily-sanitised version of the last five years of their life with a romantic spin and Charles listening raptly.

But.

Somewhere along the way, the tone changes. Stiles notices that Derek’s wistfulness isn’t forced, and the way his hand brushes briefly, hesitatingly, across the back of Stiles’ hand is lingering and infinitely careful. Stiles finds himself as drawn in as Charles, wishing that it had all happened the way Derek is telling it, because of  _course_  he’s been in love with Derek for a million years but this point, and of  _course_  he wrote it off firmly in the Never Going To Happen column. But there’s something about the way Derek is speaking now, regretful and a little sad, that’s getting beneath Stiles’ skin.

“Derek,” he murmurs softly when he can’t take it any more, his heart feeling like it’s cracking apart. He needs to put a stop to this now, because he’d compartmentalised, okay? He’d managed to push all that unrequited shit down deep enough to have a real, adult friendship with Derek and now his stupid  _prank_  or whatever was threatening to dredge it all back up and Stiles just  _can’t_ , okay? He  _can’t_ do that again, because it almost destroyed him once and he’s  _tired…_

“We had it so good, baby,” Derek says eventually, and Stiles is done.

“For fuck’s sake, we weren’t–”

“I’m so sorry I took you for granted,” Derek says simply, finally meeting Stiles’ eyes head-on. “You deserved better than me.”

Stiles might not be a werewolf, but he knows a fundamental truth when he hears one. Derek’s not pretending, not anymore; he believes every word of what he’s saying, and Stiles decides that if this is it, if this is how their friendship ends, he’s going out in a blaze of glory.

“There was  _never_  anyone better than you,” he snaps fiercely, and knows his heartbeat is steady, even if it’s racing. “And if you truly believe anything you just said, you should have never let me go.”

Derek’s expression is wide open and heartbreakingly vulnerable, because he gets it now, Stiles can tell, and it’s gone beyond a prank or a tease or whatever the hell it started as. “No,” Derek agrees quietly, eyes burning with intensity. “I shouldn’t have.”

Neither of them notice Charles leaving, wrapped up in each other and trading lingering kisses and soft, murmured apologies and promises as he goes. Derek’s only here for the weekend, after all, and they might have started this just now, but for both of them it’s been going on a lot longer and they have a lot of time to make up for.

Derek was right, too; when Stiles goes back to call he’s the subject of the best kind of rumour and speculation, but what does he care? He’s got someone who loves him enough to create for them an entire history of devotion and love before they even kissed. He always had.


	7. Mr. Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in a name?
> 
> Hilarity, apparently.

[lonely-gfd-cutie](https://lonely-gfd-cutie.tumblr.com/post/173833029725/so-at-one-of-my-jobs-i-work-with-this-really-nice):

 

> So at one of my jobs I work with this really nice woman named Liz who has an equally nice boyfriend. Thing is, I don’t know the boyfriends name because Liz only addresses him as  _boytoy_. The term boytoy is used so frequently to describe him that not only does she have no problem using that term but neither do any of her coworkers including myself. One day Liz told me that he would be stopping by and when some dude with a beard came through the door I looked at him and said, “Mr.toy I presume.” And he just looks at me and goes; “The very one.” 
> 
> Fucking eh. Relationship goals.
> 
> * * *

 

It was actually gross, Tia thought to herself as she watched Stiles kick his feet up onto his desk and lean back in his chair, mouth split wide as he laughed into the phone. Or, rather, it  _would_  be gross, except for the fact that Stiles was a genuinely decent person, if a raging asshole, and he never rubbed it in anyone’s face that he apparently had the world’s perfect boyfriend.

Stiles laughed again and got this ridiculously fond expression on his face as he listened to Boytoy speak, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Tia was of the opinion that it should be the other way around, and she and the other girls in the offer had sworn an oath to destroy Boytoy if he ever did anything to hurt Stiles. Not on their watch.

“Boytoy again?” Maria asked from the next table over, sighing when Tia nodded. “Damn. I don’t know who to be more jealous of.”

“Right?” Tia agreed, a long-running conversation between them. “I think maybe I’m just at the point where I’m consumed by jealousy over their entire  _relationship.”_

“Same,” Maria nodded, both of them giving Stiles a big thumb’s up when his eyes fell on them, before cooing delightedly when a faint flush rose in his cheeks. “That boy is too cute for words,” she added.

Stiles laughed again and rested his hand over his heart.

* * *

It had become something of a joke in the office that no one actually knew Boytoy’s name. Stiles refused to tell, always grinning about how much his boyfriend loved the name, which was a pretty clear indication that he was lying like a rug. The first time Josephine had called the boyfriend ‘Boytoy’ without any irony, Stiles had snort-laughed so hard that his energy drink had shot out of his nose, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe between that and the hysterical laughter. Then he’d gotten on the phone and called Boytoy to tell him, only to laugh even harder at the shouting that had come down the line loud enough for everyone in the office to hear.

“Love you too,” Stiles had said cheekily, ending the call mid-rant. “Ooh, I’m so gonna get it when I get home,” he had shivered delightedly, not even repentant when he ended up having to buy Mrs. Anderson a bunch of flowers and a chocolate brownie for giving her palpitations with that comment.

But the nickname persisted and now, two years on, still no one knew the poor guy’s name, and he was just collectively referred to as Boytoy.

* * *

The funniest part came during a staff meeting. Stiles was late, unusual for him, and by the time he arrived everyone else was assembled- including the regional manager- around the conference room table. He dashed into the room, pale and looking exhausted, muttered his apologies and slumped down into his seat.

“Hey man, you okay?” Charlie asked, nudging Stiles as he whispered the question.

“Yeah man, just had a family emergency over the weekend,” Stiles told him tiredly.

“Do you need to go home?” Mark, the RM, asked. “Do want to call Boytoy to come get you?”

There was a moment of brief confusion, everyone present knowing something was wrong with the question but no one quite sure  _what_ , before Stiles quirked a wry smile and Stella spluttered a laugh she couldn’t cover in time.

“There is something deeply unsettling about a fifty year old man referring to another man as ‘boytoy’ in a completely platonic context during a staff meeting,” Julian, the HR manager said eventually, a smirk of his own curling his mouth.

“Oh god,” Stiles groaned, his own blush matching Mark’s as he pitched forward to thump his forehead onto the table as the room erupted around him.

* * *

“Tia!” Stiles panted as he appeared in front of her desk, eyes frantic and hair a mess. “I just got a call from Sanchez and she needs case files picked up and brought here asap, but Boytoy is on his way here to pick me up–”

“–for your romantic three day weekend away, yeah yeah, rub it in,” Tia sighed. “Give me the address and i’ll go now.”

“No, I’ve got to go, they need my clearance to be released. But thanks,” Stiles said as an afterthought. “No, can you just keep an eye out for Boytoy, tell him I won’t be long? He’s my height, perpetually sour expression, eyebrows that are alive independent of his face,” he described as he shrugged into his coat. “Tell him I’ll be five minutes late, but I’m rushing to get back, okay?”

And with that, he was gone. Tia would have been lying to herself if she said she wasn’t looking forward to finally meeting the guy, but she had a duty, had sworn to uphold her oath, so she stamped down the excitement and composed an office-wide email, then sat back and waited.

About fifteen minutes after Stiles had left, the room was filled with people, none of whom were saying much, least of the reason they were all assembled together, most of them outside of their own departments. Five minutes passed, then ten, and when the elevator dinged the entire room went to attention without actually moving a muscle. It was one of the more impressive and bizarre things Tia had ever experienced. She typed unseeingly at the computer until the guest approached her desk and she glanced up, swallowing hard as she did so.

The dude was stacked, muscle on muscle with perfectly groomed facial hair, truly impressive eyebrows and eyes that were coloured like a Dale Frank painting. He drew to a stop in front of her desk and she swallowed hard before speaking.

“Mr. Toy, I presume?”

The second it was out she knew she’d made a mistake. The guy’s eyebrows pulled down, his lips deepened at the corners and his chest expanded like he was about to begin yelling.

But instead, he just huffed out a soft laugh, smiled a shy little smile that displayed the most adorable bunny teeth on the planet, and seemed to barely manage to refrain from rolling his eyes. “The very one,” he replied, then glanced around the office. “Wow, you guys sure have a lot of staff.”

* * *

When Tia told Stiles the story after he and Boyt–  _Derek–_ returned from their break, Stiles laughed himself stupid and texted Boytoy about it right away.


	8. Booty Shorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds out about Derek's secret.

Based off [this Tumblr post.](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/missmaladicta/179008260535)

 

“Heeeey, Derek,” Stiles says, his tone sly in that way that means he knows something or has done something he knows Derek won’t like. “So. Funny story. I was Skyping with Laura last night-”

“-oh god,” Derek groans.

“And she mentioned after a bottle or two--”

“Laura doesn’t drink wine.”

“--of  _whiskey_  that you happened to spend some time in San Francisco a few years back.”

Derek sighs. He knows  _exactly_  where this is going, but it’s not like he’s ashamed of it. So he just waits, leans back on the couch and watches as Stiles grins like the evil little leprechaun he is. A beautiful, evil leprechaun.

“In a certain club, actually.”

At this point the entire pack has twigged that something is going on and they are watching avidly. Derek is pretty sure he can smell microwave popcorn coming from the kitchen where Erica has disappeared.

“If you’re alluding to the fact that I was a platform dancer at Risk-Gay, Stiles, then yes, I was a platform dancer at a gay bar when I was twenty.

There’s dead silence in the loft and Derek schools his expression. Erica screams delightedly and vaults from the kitchen and onto Boyd’s back like a demented lemur. Scott has that look on his face like he’s not sure whether or not he needs to pass gas. Lydia, Kira and Malia are staring at him with variations on a theme of intrigued, Isaac and Jackson are trying not to make eye contact, but  _Stiles_... Stiles looks like all of his Christmases have come at once.

“Booty shorts,” he manages to grind out.

“Sorry?” Derek asks, confused by the non-sequitur.

“Were there booty shorts, Derek? Did you wear booty shorts?”

And yeah, that’s definitely arousal Derek can smell. Not just from Stiles, but strongest and most relevantly from Stiles, for sure. “Sure,” he says casually. “They were glittery. A whole heap of colours, but I preferred the black ones.”

Stiles is looking a little wild around the eyes.  _Perfect_.

“Actually, that’s all the uniform was, really,” Derek continues, not even glancing up as Lydia drags a transfixed Kira and Malia from the apartment, glaring Jackson into submission until he follows too. “I mean, we wore army boots, obviously, and eyeliner, but that was it. Laura probably has photos, if you really wanted to see. I might even still have a pair of those shorts around here somewhere, maybe.”

Isaac nopes out, and Boyd has to actually restrain and remove Erica from the apartment before she turns and bolts from the stairs to find said pants.

“You danced on a platform?” Stiles asks dazedly, taking a small step forward as Derek gets to his feet. Scott looks like he’s watching a car accident in slow motion, transfixed and unable to look away.

“What can I say?” Derek says casually, eyes fixed on Stiles’, fascinated by the way they’ve blown wide with lust. “My body is a gift from god.”

Scott sounds like he’s being choked, but Stiles’ mouth has dropped open and his body language is encouraging. “Yeah,” he breathes softly.

“Except my hips,” Derek adds, coming to a halt right in front of Stiles, who swallows with a loud click.

“Hips?” he repeats faintly.

“They’re clearly a gift from the devil.”

Scott is gone, an afterimage of his outline disappearing as the loft door slams shut. Stiles looks enthralled, his cheeks flushed pink, eyes bright and lips shiny after he licks them convulsively.

“Maybe I can show you,” Derek says into the silence of the loft, and’s that’s Stiles’ tipping point. He has his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist and they’re grinding up against the wall before Derek has even registered that they’ve moved.

* * *

 

Stiles gets to see the booty shorts; he may have Satan to thank for them, but it’s god Stiles gives thanks to that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for @maladicta, the great enabler. God damn you, woman...
> 
>  
> 
> ...Don't stop.


	9. Saviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From @daily-otp-prompts on Tumblr:
> 
> Person A: Oh man, I forgot my earbuds for this 4 hour trip. It’s a shame no one is willing to share their music.  
> Person B, sighing and holding out an earbud: Here.  
> Person A, cackling and immediately taking the opportunity to lay on B’s shoulder: My savior  
> (in the back)  
> Person C: A has earbuds. I can see them sticking out of their bag.

“Hey, Derek.”

“No.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open, indignation written all over his face. “All I said was ‘hey’!”

“No,” Derek said, returning to his book, “you said  _‘heeeey, Derek’_ , all drawn out and stupid like when you want something. Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

Dropping back into his seat beside Derek with a huff, arms crossed over his chest and his knee bouncing, Stiles scowled. “Fine,” he said petulantly. “That’s fine. I mean, this pack holiday was supposed to be about bonding, and togetherness, but I guess that’s all shot to shit if even the  _alpha_  won’t support his favourite packmate.”

“Boyd’s my favourite,” Derek said, inflectionless, and without looking reached across the aisle of the plane to high-five the grinning beta as Erica laughed from beside him.

“You wound me, Derek; I am  _wounded,”_  Stiles moaned, aggrieved.

“I’ll ask the flight attendant for a bandaid when he comes by next,” Derek said, faux-soothingly.

Stiles sighed and stared out the window. Sighed again. Drummed his fingers on the shared armrest. Sighed a third time.

“I wonder what would happen if the door malfunctioned and you were sucked out of the plane at thirty thousand feet,” Derek mused, but missed casual by a mile with the way his teeth were clenched.  _“What,_  Stiles?”

“It’s a four hour flight and I forgot my pillow so I can’t sleep and I also forgot my headphones so I mean I could play my music, but then everyone would have to hear it and I’m not sure if the whole plane wants to listen to four hours of classic rock even though it is, unarguably, the best genre–”

“Here,” Derek said with a sigh of his own, pulling out one of his earbuds and handing it to Stiles. “But this is only because I don’t want to have to wolf out to save you when the rest of the passengers revolt.”

Grabbing the earbud gleefully, Stiles just shoved up the armrest, dislodging Derek’s elbow and snuggled in close to rest his head on Derek’s shoulder. “My saviour,” he sighed happily.

“Yeah yeah,” Derek mumbled, but the way he shifted to slip his arm around Stiles’ back belied his irritation.

“Stilinski, I can literally see your headphones hanging out of the overhead compartment,” Jackson announced rudely from behind them.

“Shut up, Jackson,” Derek and Stiles said together, settling in for the rest of the flight.


	10. You Had Me At Aloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From @fartgallery on Tumblr:
> 
> bartender: this is from the gentleman over there  
> girl: this is a plant  
> me [shouting from across the bar]: just wanted to say aloe

It had been a long day. Derek had spent the morning at work, helped with lunch at the homeless shelter, then went back to work to cover for a no-show that turned into an eight hour shift. He had planned to meet Erica and Boyd at the bar hours ago, but a text from Erica told him they were still there, and he  _promised_ , so now there he was.

It was their regular watering hole, the beer frosty and cheap, the floors predictably sticky, and they’d been going for years. Even the pretty guy who’d been playing surprisingly good classic rock covers on a battered guitar for the last couple of weeks was becoming familiar. As he took his seat across from Boyd, Derek wondered if maybe he’d been spending a bit too much time here. Then Marguerite placed his drink in front of him and patted him fondly on the shoulder before she bustled off and he though maybe he was doing okay.

“Sparkles has been watching this table like a hawk since six,” Erica told him with a not-at-all-subtle jerk of her head in the musician’s direction. 

She had dubbed the poor kid ‘Sparkles’ after the first night he had performed at O’Malley’s and Derek had gotten roaringly drunk and opined poetic about how the guy’s eyes sparkled when he played, and how beautiful his hands looked, wrapped around the mic. It had stuck, and ever since then she hadn’t allowed an opportunity slip by to tease Derek about it.

“Gee, what a surprise that you make him nervous enough to want to keep an eye on you,” Derek sighed, ignoring the traitorous flutter in his belly at the idea of the kid keeping an eye out for him.

Because he wasn’t a kid, not really; he was definitely young, but probably not as young as he looked, and the way his eyes flicked constantly between the patrons and the exits made Derek think he’d seen some shit in his time. He also moved with the confidence of a man who knew himself and was confident of his place in the world. That happened to be a character trait Derek found very attractive.

He snuck a glance up at the singer, his attention focused briefly at the bar before his head turned and he met Derek’s eyes, winking at him mid-word and quirking his gorgeous lips upwards when Derek blushed and looked away. Someone kicked his leg under the table, and he would have thought it was Erica if it weren’t for the eyeroll Boyd was directing his way.

It was never busy on Tuesdays, so by one a.m. even the usual crowd had thinned right out. Erica and Boyd left at eleven, both of them working the next day, but neither of them looked surprised when Derek had said he was going to stay.

So now it was one, and apart from a handful of the usual characters, it was just Derek. He had moved to the bar when one of the staff had begun to stack up the chairs, and he was fucking around on his phone for reasons he wasn’t examining too closely when he heard the sound of something solid being placed on the wood before him.

“No thanks, Margie,” he began, “I’m done for n-” He looked up and blinked in surprise as Marguerite beamed at him. “Uh. What.” He stared at the small ceramic pot with a little green plant in it, which wasn’t the tumbler of whiskey he had expected.

“This is from the gentleman over there,” Marguerite told him delightedly, gesturing with a thumb over her shoulder to the end of the bar closest to the  _Employees Only_  door.

Derek looked up to find Sparkles smiling at him, lifting a hand in a jaunty little wave.

“This is a plant,” he said, pointlessly, to Marguerite as he stared back down at the little pot. He didn’t get it.

“Just wanted to say aloe,” a husky voice came from over his shoulder, and Derek startled slightly before turning and staring at the singer. “Mind if I join you?”

Derek shook his head wordlessly and watched as the other man slipped lithely onto the stool beside him. They sat in silence for a long moment, the guy finishing his drink and Derek trying to figure out what the fuck the plant meant. He didn’t really get far with that.

“Do you happen to just have pockets full of plants to facilitate your plant-based pun introductions?” he asked eventually.

The guy laughed, his mouth wide, lush lips curling up at the corners, and his eyes  _sparkling, god damn it, Erica._

“Not usually,” he replied, tapping those obscenely long fingers on the bar top, but I’ve seen you come in here once or twice a week for as long as I’ve been performing here and tonight?” He shrugged. “Tonight I came prepared in the hopes that you’d be here again.”

“And a plant pun is what you’re going with?” Derek asked, his tone judgemental.

The musician laughed again. “I figured I’d have better odds of getting you to talk with me if I led with that rather than ‘hey, I’ve noticed you here and I think you’re beautiful and you make me want to stay in town just so I can get to know you better’.”

Startled by the unabashed declaration Derek met the guy’s eyes, bourbon-rich and framed with gorgeous dark lashes, and felt his stomach flutter again, choosing this time not to ruthlessly stamp it down.

“I guess it worked,” he said after a beat, glancing away and then back again. “I’m Derek.”

“Hi Derek,” the musician said, the look in his eyes growing warmer as his smile faded a little into something sweeter, something more like promise. “I’m Stiles.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From @iamthefeelsanon on Tumblr:
> 
> I need a fic where Stiles constantly says “that is the second best decision I have ever made” or “second best day of my life” etc. so that people will ask about the first best thing and he can point to Derek. 
> 
> Derek blushes to his ears every single time. 
> 
> The Pack is over it. 
> 
> Stiles does not care. Derek blushing will always be the first best thing.

It starts a couple of months into their relationship.

“Huh. That’s actually not a bad choice,” Dad says about the pale grey paint Stiles used to redo the living room.

“Thanks,” Stiles grins, watching as Derek moves the couch back into its spot. “Second best choice I made this week.”

“What’s the first?” Dad asks.

Stiles’ grin widens as he points a sure finger at Derek. “That guy.” 

Dad just groans and Derek tries to hide how pleased he is with an over-exaggerated eyeroll.

*

Derek comes to pick him up after work at the coffee shop and walks in on the back end of a conversation Stiles is having with his boss.

“Keep it up and you can have a permanent spot making the cakes and stuff,” Marnie tells Stiles as Derek walks through the door. “That lemon meringue pie was divine.”

“Second sweetest thing I love,” Stiles agrees.

“What’s the first?” Marnie asks.

“Have you met my boyfriend, Derek?” Stiles asks, beaming as Derek just sighs and slides a hand over his face.

*

“Dude, you did  _not_  buy me a lab coat with Dr. Hot McCall on it,” Scott shouts triumphantly when he opens his christmas present.

“Sure did, bro– had to get you something as awesome as the scale-model of the jeep you got me for my birthday. Second best gift  _ever.”_

“Second best?” Scott asks, confused.

“What can I say?” Stiles says, throwing himself into Derek arms where he sits on the other end of the couch. “Santa really filled my stocking this year with this one, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh god,” Derek sighs, even as his ears turn pink and he shifts his body to make room for Stiles.

*

They’re in a bookstore.

“Hey, Der– this book here is just blank pages.”

“What?” Derek asks, coming over to see what the hell Stiles is talking about now.

“Oh, no, wait… on the last page it just says ‘Derek’.”

Derek growls and uses his body to press Stiles against a bookshelf and kiss him hard.

The orange book falls to the floor,  _‘The Best Decision I Ever Made’_  printed across the cover.

*

“Oh wow,” Erica sighs blissfully, passing the spoon to Stiles. “That is seriously the best icecream in creation.”

Eyeing the tub disbelievingly, Stiles digs the spoon in and tries it for himself. His eyes widen as flavour bursts across his tongue and he makes sure he gets every bit of icecream off the spoon before he slides it back out of his mouth.

“It’s amazing,” he agrees. Then, after a beat, “Still, though, only the second best thing I’ve had in my mo-”

Derek appears from thin air, apparently, to slap his hand over Stiles’ mouth. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have it again,” he hisses, his ears turning pink.

Erica cackles long and loud as Stiles licks Derek’s palm and smirks unrepentantly with his eyes.

*

It’s a part of Stiles’ vows.

“This is the second happiest day of my life,” he says at the altar, before their friends and family, grinning at the collective groan that arises.

“What was the first?” Erica calls, ever the enabler.

“My mind immediately goes to the first time we ever–”

_“The day we met!”_ Derek exclaims desperately, easily able to guess where Stiles could have been going with that one. His entire face is aflame, but he can’t stop his mouth when Stiles turns those gorgeous eyes back to him, lips parted slightly in surprise. “The day we met; that was the best day of my life. Because that day led me here, and it’s leading us to forever, and loving you is the best decision  _I_ ever made.”

Stiles doesn’t wait for Deaton to finish the ceremony before he’s kissing Derek senseless. Deaton just finishes what he’s required to say, Boyd and Scott put the rings on Derek and Stiles’ fingers, and they all live happily ever after.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a misunderstanding.

Based on [this .gif by @stolen-snacks](http://stolen-snacks.tumblr.com/post/175926462078/the-sad-life-of-derek) on Tumblr.

 

* * *

_“Derek, wait!”_

The shout is unexpected, even though the voice is so familiar. He turns, the streetlights throwing Stiles’ lovely, beloved face into relief as the rain begins to fall. There’s worry there, and pain, and the same intensity that always takes Derek’s breath away, even when it’s not focussed on him. He can’t meet Stiles’ eyes, so he lets his gaze slide to the side a little, avoiding.

Stiles jogs slowly across the street after the soft  _whoosh_  of a car passing on the wet road, and then he’s there, staring directly into Derek’s face, patient in a way he usually isn’t, just waiting.

And Derek can’t  _not look_ , he can’t, because his entire world is caught in those beautiful eyes, constellated across perfect skin, cradled within careful, capable and gentle hands, and Derek was never very good at avoiding the things that were best able to destroy him, anyway.

He meets Stiles’ eyes, glittering darkly in the shadow of the evening, lets his eyes trace across strong brows and the perfect cupid’s bow of his mouth. He doesn’t move as Stiles drifts closer, his hands coming up to hover hesitantly over Derek’s shoulders, hesitant to touch for the first time in a very long time, and it makes Derek ache.

_“Stiles.”_

He can hear every aching vulnerability in his own voice, hear the permission he’s granting, not just for touch but for solace and comfort, given and taken, shared. He hears what feels like a lifetime of yearning, the plea to not be alone anymore, for someone– this wonderful, incredible man– to love him, and allow Derek to love him back. It terrifies him, humbles him and steels his resolve, and it’s this resolve that has him shifting into Stiles’ touch; he’s too scared to do more than that, to be any more vulnerable than he’s already allowing himself to be.

But Stiles is there, as he ever is and ever has been, and he holds Derek, shares warmth and touch and affection, bears Derek up like he’s worthy of his burden being halved.

“It’s you,” he says quietly, as soft as the rain. “It’s  _always_  been you.”

His mouth is reverent, worshipful as it gives and gives and  _gives_  against his own, and the rain suddenly feels like cleansing, like it’s washing away the pain, and Derek feels renewed.


	13. BUTTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this gif: http://exposedtease.tumblr.com/post/175831640276

“I fucking knew it,” Stiles said triumphantly from where he lazed across their bed and watched Derek struggle to jerk his jeans up and over his ass. “You make out like those jeans are the comfiest clothes you own, yet you practically have to pour yourself into them!”

Turning and scowling at him, Derek saw hi shirt on the end of the bed and moved to grab it. “They are comfortable,” he lied, not missing the way Stiles’ eyes flicked down to his zip, still undone and showing an obscene amount of skin.

“Bet they’d be more comfortable if you took them back off again,” Stiles suggested, rolling onto his belly and looking up at Derek from beneath his eyelashes as he reached out and toyed with the button, drawing Derek closer. “I mean, you even forgot to put on underwear.”

Smirking as he shifted closer and allowed Stiles to begin tugging his jeans back down and over his ass, Derek said, “Who said anything about  _forgot?”_

**Author's Note:**

> [Come look at all the pretty Sterek stuff I post!](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/aussiebee)


End file.
